Going Home
by AineMorrigan
Summary: In the end, we all go home. Companion oneshot to [The Road Home] and [Home]. HouseCam, OC, Character Death.


**AN: **Okay, I lied. I lack in ideas, so I figured I'd just continue on with the character I created and create a bunch of one shots that take place before, after and during the events of the two main stories. I'll throw in lots of random House/Cameron moments as well. I'm open to any ideas if anybody wants to see anything in particular. Was nice to venture back into the story I started a hell of a long time ago.

Constructive criticism is my best friend - don't be afraid to tell me if you like it, or if it blows the big one. I recommend reading "The Road Home" & "Home" first though, as it's a companion piece to an established House/Cam relationship & storyline.

* * *

"**Going Home"**

Night after night, week after week, the dream appeared and never faltered from its set course of events.

They all started the same, usually a few hours after I'd drift off for the night. Blackness would turn into a long passageway - the familiar tunnel that appeared during my somewhat turbulent childhood. At one end, a white light shone constantly, inviting me to come forward and embrace all it had to offer. I'd walk eagerly towards it, and at the end, she'd always be there.

My mother.

Standing amongst the white light, smiling and welcoming me with open arms. The white fabric of her lab coat would sway with every step she took, as she moved forward and took me into her arms … only to fade away a moment later, leaving me completely alone.

"Be prepared."

Those were the only words she spoke, and they echoed through my head as I'd wake up in a sweat in the middle of my darkened bedroom in the dead of the night.

Dreams always seem so wonderful until you realize they don't exist.

I'd roll over and ignore my husbands questioning touch on my shoulder, and go back to sleep. I was an adult and learned the hard way not to take comfort in such fantasies. It was all science and nothing more.

My mother has been dead for thirty years, and was not coming back.

* * *

It was after a particularly long, boring day in the clinic that I came home with my husband and immediately went to bed.

Before long, I was back in that tunnel. Only to my surprise, I reached the end and was not greeted by that familiar light and face - I found myself walking through a long garden. Weeping willows lined the pathway and brushed against my shoulders as I proceeded forward.

At the end of this pathway, I came to a large clearing. Directly in front of me laid a long black casket with gleaming silver handles. I walked forward and ran my hands down the polished wood and looked on inquisitively. The casket slowly lowered into the ground before my eyes, revealing a tombstone with a name engraved in it's rough gray surface.

I awoke with a loud scream and found the telephone ringing.

* * *

The black casket in front of me is gleaming in the light of the early morning sun. As much as I want it to be a dream, it is sadly real. I'm drawn to its shiny surface and run my hand along it's wooden exterior, as I did in sleep. A pile of white roses sit atop its surface, sending a sickly sweet, yet familiar smell into the air.

I close my eyes.

Suddenly, I am fifteen again. I'm lying in a hospital bed, waking up from two weeks of death-like sleep and he's there. A vase of white roses sit atop a table and their odor fills the entire room, bringing me back into the land of the living. He's asleep with his head on my bed, his hand still attached to mine.

I have the suspicion he's been here the entire time.

He's spent his whole life pretending to be the gruff, uncaring misanthrope, but I knew better. He could protest it all he wanted, but the truth was he never did like to be alone.

I feel the presence of two people coming up beside me. Small hands find their way into each of mine and I open my eyes, breaking myself away from a memory long gone.

"Is granddad happy now?" comes a tiny voice from my left.

I look down into the blue eyes of my tiny six year old daughter Allison, then left and into the eyes of her twin brother Gregory - both stare up at me and wait for the answer to this question.

A gust of wind blows through the cemetery, blowing red and yellow leaves across the well kept lawns, and I can almost hear the sound of his laughter. We were walking through this same cemetery after a visit to my mother, when he asked me.

_"Al, do you think there really is a heaven? Do you think your mother would be there, waiting for me? I bet she's moved on and hooked up with the wombat in suck-up heaven … she always was too good for an old fool like me."_

I laughed it off and said nothing more. It had been my last conversation with him.

"I think he is …" I find myself saying, a sad smile on my face as my daughter nods with as much understanding as a six year old possesses.

My children walk up to the casket and place a kiss on the surface. My little girl, the spitting image of my mother, murmurs a little, "Bye bye," then runs to her fathers waiting arms, burying her head into his shoulder. My son marches ahead with his Uncle Eric, trying to remain as brave as he can be.

I stand behind the exiting crowd and watch as two workers lower the casket into the ground.

"She's all alone now," I hear a guest say as she walks off, "Will probably end up as equally bitter as her old man." I glare and contemplate having a few words with whoever invited her, the "House" temper brewing beneath my seemingly calm exterior. I decide today is not the day for a brawl and let it go.

I turn my attention back to the gravesite, as the workers finish and move aside. I'm face to face with a gray stone bearing the name and picture of my father. Directly to the left is the final resting place of my mother.

**GREGORY HOUSE**  
_Husband, father and friend … forever._  
_15,000 hours still owed. Final Score - **Clinic:** 0, **House: **1_

I laugh to myself, recalling the day he sat me down and went over his final wishes.

All that time I'd never really believed this day would come. He'd been by my side through some tough times and I assumed he'd be there forever - teaching his grandchildren the art of sarcasm. He lived well into his senior years before the Vicodin finally finished him off, leaving his system with a gift of liver damage.

He knew it was coming eventually, but he told no one how soon the end would actually come. He plodded on with life and even had the strength to joke around about how if God existed, he was probably looking forward to the day he could enjoy my Aunt Lisa's fun bags. Yet through the laughter, you could see the sadness in his eyes. The sadness of a man who has gone through his life missing something. Only those who knew our story could figure it out.

I knew he wanted so desperately to see her again.

He was ready to go home.

* * *

Later that night, I fell into a deep sleep.

This time they were both there, sitting hand in hand. My dad tossed me his cane and stood up with my mother. They smiled at me, turned around and walked off into the light. It was the last time either of them would appear in my dreams.

I awoke to the sound of my husband laughing, and my two kids jumping up and down on my bed.

High above, the sun shone brightly in the late morning sky.


End file.
